


I Only Want Eternity (If It's By Your Side)

by DrSpazz



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, Gay, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-05-18 16:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrSpazz/pseuds/DrSpazz
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have done it: they have saved the world. But what great adventure awaits them next? The journey of the unlikely love between an Angel of God and the Serpent of EdenSet in the middle of the series finale, excludes the death sentence scenes and everything after Aziraphale is asked to move in with CrowleyAU in which Aziraphale agrees to move in with Crowley





	1. The Very First Day of the Rest Of Their Lives

_Aziraphale_

 

"You can stay at my place, if you'd like."

Aziraphale looks up suddenly to face Crowley. He can't tell exactly which emotion he was exhibiting--the sunglasses did a great job at hiding any feelings lurking behind those golden snake-eyes--but he knew he must be feeling something from the way he held his breath.

"I...I don't think my side would like that." Aziraphale says hesitantly, darting his eyes between Crowley's poker face and the ground in front of him.

"You don't have a side anymore," the demon said, shaking his head with a pained look on his face. Aziraphale may be imagining things, but it seemed as if Crowley had...sympathy...for him. "Neither of us do. We're on our own side."

Aziraphale stirs uncomfortably, swallowing and averting his eyes again. Something in the way Crowley said things like "our", or "us" made him feel tight in the chest; a very similar, but somehow lighter sensation as the anxiety that sometimes plagued him. He opens his mouth to protest again, but something in the way the demon was looking at him, the intensity radiating from him, made him close his mouth and try to formulate a way to say what he actually wants to say: yes. Crowley apparently misreads his silence as a declination of his request, so he straightens up and moves his hand from where it was almost touching Aziraphale on the back of the bench down to his side, tapping his fingers awkwardly.

"Well, I suppose you could sleep on a park bench like the rest of the homeless do, but the door is always open, angel." Crowley flashes a smile at him, before standing to walk away.

"No!" Aziraphale bursts, unable to hold in his torrent of emotion.

Crowley stops and turns on his heels like a runway model, and gives a happy little half-smile. "No what?"

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, grips the edge of the park bench tightly, and forces himself to look Crowley in the eyes. "No, please don't leave. I...I'll come with you. I'll stay."

Crowley's face splits into a genuine grin, and holds out his hand. Aziraphale can sense the unadulterated joy radiating from him, which flustered him to the point of speechlessness. All he could do is give him a restrained smile, and take his hand. The contact of skin on skin between an angel and demon had a sort of electric current, something forbidden but oh so enticing. So enticing, in fact, that Aziraphale finds himself still holding Crowley's hand for a full 10 seconds after he had been helped up.

Crowley gives him a shit-eating grin and says, "This works too," and pulled Aziraphale to his side and started walking hand-in-hand with the angel.

"Oh, my..." Aziraphale whispers under his breath, but he holds Crowley's hand tighter and continues walking.

6,000 years and they had never touched each other for more than a few seconds. Aziraphale can't believe they hadn't done it sooner. Crowley's hand was warm, and surprisingly soft and supple, despite the boniness of his fingers. It took everything in him not to caress the hand with his thumb the way he always dreamed of doing. 

Yes, Aziraphale knew he was in love, and had been for roughly 6,000 years. He never doubted his feelings for Crowley, however forbidden they may be, and he never doubted their friendship, but the only thing he wasn't sure of was if demons could feel love, and therefore if Crowley could love him despite being a demon. As much as Aziraphale wanted to deny it, both Crowley and him have broken the mold and rebelled against their respective kingdoms, so maybe it was possible that demons--rather, one demon--could love him back.

"This is nice."

Crowley breaks Aziraphale's thoughts with that soft-spoken comment, still looking straight ahead with no indication he had spoken.

"...yes. Yes, I suppose it is." Aziraphale answered breathlessly, looking straight ahead as well, trying to sound matter of fact, but failing miserably.

"Imagine that. A demon and an angel walking hand in hand down the streets of London, hours after the apocalypse should have occurred. Sounds like the beginning of a joke." Crowley says this with a bit of a smile on his face, a smile which Aziraphale was sure he himself is mirroring despite his efforts to "stay cool".

The two continue walking down the street, for the most part silent, holding tightly to the other as if it were all they had left. And in a way, they were. Neither had any place to call home, nothing like a family, and they seemed to realize that they haven't had anything to call their own besides each other almost since the day they met. As much as Aziraphale tried to push the thought out of his head, he knew that Heaven had never been there for or supported him the way Crowley always had. Maybe that counted as love.

"Well, this is me. Us, now, actually," Crowley added as they stood in front of his flat. Their flat now. Aziraphale suppresses a shiver of happiness at the thought.

They both walk up the stairs to the flat, and enter. Aziraphale had been in Crowley's flat a handful of times, and was always baffled from the sleek, yet entirely dysfunctional interior. He had a top of the line sound system...with no speakers. A high end computer...still running on Windows 98. You can imagine the rest. The only thing that seemed to actually hold a purpose were the dozens and dozens of plants and flowers meticulously placed around the house that Crowley shouts at and aggressively spritzes with water. Aziraphale doesn't understand why, but if it made the demon happy, then that's his business.. It was no homey bookstore, but it was Crowley's. And Aziraphale loved everything about Crowley.

"So, it's technically a three bedroom flat, but the other two are filled with...plants," Crowley said rather sheepishly, as if having more plants than brain cells was shameful.

"It's alright, Crowley. I don't sleep much anyways." Aziraphale replies, despite the fact that he would definitely sleep more often if it were with Crowley.

"Yeah, that's true. Just thought you might like a space to call your own. We can always share, you know," Crowley said, facing Aziraphale with a look he could only describe as wistful and hopeful.

Aziraphale doesn't know what to say. Well, he knew exactly what to say: yes please. But thinking that and saying that were two different things, something he had struggled with for 6,000 years. When Crowley asked, no, _begged_ , him (twice!)  to run away with him to Alpha Centuri, Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to drop everything he was doing and run away and never look back. But he didn't. He used the excuse he's been using for six millennia: his side wouldn't like that. But now he doesn't have a side. He's free to say and do whatever he pleases.

So why was it so hard to get the words out?

"We don't have to. I just thought you might want to. Now that your "side" can't tell you what to do." Crowley says, looking a little deflated at the perceived distaste he thought he saw in Aziraphale's face.

Ah. So _that's_ why Crowley had been overly flirtatious and a tad desperate. He thought that the bonds keeping the angel away from him were merely loyalty-based, not anxiety and shyness-based. Aziraphale had to admit, using the loyalty card was his go-to reason not to indulge with Crowley, so it's not an implausible conclusion for the demon to have reached. Aziraphale finds himself hoping desperately that Crowley is capable of love, and that this is him finally expressing it. 

"It's fine. We can share," Aziraphale says hurriedly, finding himself bolder with every passing minute. How far he had strayed in less than 12 hours, going from an Angel of God to sharing a bedroom with the Serpent of Eden!

If Aziraphale was truthful with himself--which he often wasn't--he would realize that he had started straying a long time ago, straddling two different lives until he had to choose one side and leave the other. Somewhere in the Bible there is the phrase, "one cannot serve two masters", and Aziraphale had to choose which side meant the most to him. Or rather, the choice was made for him, and now he has to deal with the consequences of being the black sheep. It wasn't so bad, actually. It's just a matter of him learning how to have free will.

Crowley smiles at him the way he often does--as if Aziraphale hung the moon. This goes a bit unnoticed by the angel, seeing as this is how Crowley looks at him like this 90% of the time. Aziraphale is just as guilty of giving the demon the same look, but we digress.

"Wonderful, angel. Wouldn't want to have you live in the closet," he teases, making Aziraphale flush red. Yes, he was aware of the human meaning of that, but he wasn't sure if Crowley did.

It was late. Darkness had fallen hours ago, and Aziraphale was exhausted. Not in the "I need sleep" kind of way, just in the "my bones ache and I need to lie down" way. Aziraphale tentatively speaks up.

"Crowley, if it's, ah...if it's not too much to ask, may I just...lie down for a bit? I'm awfully tired."

Crowley's face flashes surprise, then embarrassment. "Oh, angel, I'm sorry, I should have offered sooner, I completely forgot, I'm rather tired too, it's just--" Crowley stops himself from babbling then, takes a breath, and says, "Would you like the couch or the bed?"

Aziraphale's heart stutters a bit and leaps into his throat. "Oh, um...I don't know...I don't want to take your bed, heavens no, but--"

"It's fine, angel. It's a queen-sized, plenty of room for both of us."

Oh.

"For...for both of us?" Aziraphale asked hesitantly. God, he was in over his head.

"I mean, yeah, if you'd like." Crowley says, doing his best to remain casual, his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels a bit.

All of a sudden, it was too much. The way Crowley was looking at him, how quickly the situation escalated, the amount of desperate love clamoring in Aziraphale's chest, it was just too much too soon and too fucking fast and he couldn't deal.

"No. I can't. Its not..." Aziraphale starts, then takes a breath. "You...you move too fast for me, Crowley," he says rather breathlessly, aware of the deja vu of him saying that line again. His heart continues to beat an arrhythmic tattoo on the inside of his ribs, and his breath was coming short and shallow. 

Crowley's face falls for less than a second, but then was covered with an indifferent, unbothered mask. Aziraphale thought he might see disappointment and regret seeping through, but perhaps that was just his own emotions projecting on the demon.

"It's alright. You've just lost Heaven, you're tired, I was wrong. It was too much. You can have the couch, angel." Crowley says, his voice definitely laced with some sort of disappointment. Aziraphale was pained by this, but there's no way in heaven that he wants to rescind his decision. Not just yet.

"Thank you," Aziraphale whispers, relief flooding through him, snuffing out the flame of anxiety within his chest.

"Don't mention it," Crowley says, rather roughly, as if his hopes and dreams had been shattered. A little dramatic of a thought, Aziraphale thinks, but accurate enough.

There was an awkward beat of silence before Aziraphale claps his hands together and says, "Righty-ho. I guess I'll get to it. Goodnight, Crowley."

"Goodnight, angel," the demon says softly, and turns to leave into his bedroom down the hall. 

Aziraphale laid down, closed his eyes, and to his surprise, drifted off to sleep.

 

***

 

_Crowley_

 

So stupid!

Crowley paces about his room, resisting the urge to break and throw things for fear of waking up his best friend in the next room.

How could he have been so stupid? 

To think that Aziraphale, Angel of God, Mr. Prim-And-Proper himself, would want to share a bed with a demon? Absolutely despicable! And Crowley was an idiot to think that whatever he felt deep within his bones would be reciprocated by someone as literally perfect as Aziraphale.

Crowley stops and places his hands behind his head, looking straight ahead into the far distance. He's being overrun with emotions and thoughts and feelings and just wants it to stop. Life was so much better when he was definitively evil and the embodiment of Hell itself. Fucking with the M-25, glueing 50p coins to the sidewalk, miracling children's ice cream cones falling into the dirt; even though these were mild inconveniences at best, it was still completely on-brand as to what was expected of a fallen angel like himself. But now? Now he had saved the world. Now he invited what should have always been a sworn enemy into his home and into his bed. Were there any lines now? Any rules of conduct he could follow?

Loving an angel. What a joke he is.

Crowley kicks off his shoes and flops onto his bed, still in the clothes he had been wearing for about 24 hours. He always had an odd habit of sleeping or resting on one side of the bed, instead of in the middle, as if he was saving room for someone. Of course, having someone to share a bed with was enticing, but as a demon, love really wasn't on the table, and casual sex wasn't really Crowley's thing. Sex in general was disinteresting, actually, but that could just be because he's not exactly human. So he was alone. Except for Aziraphale, of course.

He had never really seen Aziraphale interested in sex either, but the whole "sexual purity" thing angels have going on could be a result of that. Regardless, imagining sharing a bed with Aziraphale was one of his guilty pleasures. Having the angel hold him, caressing his harsh edges and lines with a hand so much more gentle and soft as his, hearing his heartbeat with his head on his chest, burrowed into his soft body and pretending that maybe he wasn't all that unlovable.

He would never admit it, though, and that's why he was kicking himself for being so overeager to sleep with Aziraphale. Kicking himself for believing for an instant that Aziraphale loved him. An angel loving a demon. Ridiculous.

Crowley closed his eyes, and tried to imagine an arm around him as he drifted off to sleep.

 

***

 

Sunlight filters into the room through the shuttered blinds of Crowley's bedroom. His eyes slowly open, and for a blissful moment he is unaware of any troubles. That's what he loved bout sleeping; when he woke up, for a single, solitary moment, he was at peace. No thoughts of regret or burning desire for something _more_ , something _real_. Just sleepy, heavy-eye lid contentedness.

Then his limbs returned to their usual state of tension, his forehead starts to pinch as his brows furrow, and is reminded the has nothing in this world except an angel who could never love him.

He heaved himself off his back and sat perched at the edge of his bed for a moment, trying to salvage what he could of his wakeup bliss, but it was gone. He reached for his sunglasses, forever trying to hide what he would always be: an unforgivable, heartless demon.

He walks into the living room and is met with the sleeping form of Aziraphale face-up on the couch. For a minute, Crowley stops to admire him. Soft, gentle lines of his body that flowed so smoothly and easily around his body; his fluffy, featherlike hair that framed his face so beautifully; the way his face looked so utterly calm and at peace, and the slow, rhythmic breathing that pushed his chest up, then brought it back down again. Such a beautiful being. The world stopped for a minute as he stared wistfully at the angel, in full Hopeless Romantic mode.

Aziraphale breathed deeply, then opened his eyes. Crowley averted his gaze to the floor and walked through to the kitchen, hoping Aziraphale didn't notice his blatant pining.

"Good morning, angel," Crowley said in his usual cocky manner, leaning forward on his elbows that rested on the kitchen table. "Fancy some breakfast?"

Aziraphale smiled softly before rising to a sitting position, his hair mussed and his eyes heavy in a way that send a pang of some unknown emotion through Crowley. "I would love too. Where?"

Crowley smiled widely, as if he knew something Aziraphale didn't. "Right here. I'll make you something."

Aziraphale's mouth made an "o" shape with surprise; it obviously didn't occur to him that demons--well, this demon--would bother himself with learning the fine art of cooking.

"What, you think demons don't know how to cook? Been around for a few millennia, I've picked up some tricks," Crowley says, with a certain strut to his voice as he begins to look for cookware.

Aziraphale looks at him with the dumbest smile and widest eyes Crowley had ever seen, an emotion he would have recognized as love if that wasn't the face he always looked at him with. It has been 6,000 years, and Crowley still felt the same buzz and butterflies he had felt ever since Aziraphale smiled at him the first time.

The first time was roughly 5,300 years ago, and they had only seen each other a handful of times in those 700 years since they first met. Aziraphale had a habit of not looking at Crowley when he spoke, as if he were too ashamed of the fact that he was "fraternizing", as he so delicately put it, with his sworn enemy. It bothered him, but at least when his eyes were averted he could admire him in peace. They were strolling through the still largely uninhabited planet, and Aziraphale would not shut up about how beautiful the Earth was. How ever flower had a unique scent, how every stone had a different shape, how each living creature breathed in a separate fashion, etc etc. Crowley found this both endearing and heartbreaking, as he loved to watch Aziraphale speak so passionately about the Earth they both helped create--a little tidbit Aziraphale seemed to forget a lot--but also saddening because he felt so devoid of emotion regarding the facets of the Earth. He stayed quiet and listened to him, until the angel asked him what his favorite part about Earth was.

_Birds_ , he had said. He had seen a white dove flit up into the tree Aziraphale was gazing at, and decided that that was going to be his favorite, because it reminded him of the only angel who was nice to him. Aziraphale looked him in the eye for the first time, and beamed so brilliantly that Crowley lost his breath. _Birds are my favorite too!_ Aziraphale exclaimed, and for once Crowley didn't feel like a dirty little secret or a forbidden relationship, and instead felt the warm rush of love and absolute adoration. And he hoped Aziraphale had felt it too.

"I didn't mean that," Aziraphale says sheepishly. "I just didn't think you would cook for me."

"Nonsense. Anything for you, angel," Crowley says, winking. Aziraphale averts his eyes and smiles at the ground a bit. "What would you like?"

Aziraphale looks at him and smiles even wider. "I think...I think I would fancy an omelette. With a lot of cheese. If it's not too much to ask." The angel shifts on the couch a bit, obviously feeling a bit flustered at having such a fuss made over him.

An omelette. How incredibly on-brand.

"Sure thing. What do you say to some wine afterwards?" Crowley suggests.

"Wine?" Aziraphale questions, "It's not even 9:00 yet, Crowley."

"We're ethereal beings, angel, anytime is drinking time."

Aziraphale chuckles a bit, wringing his hands briefly as he averts his eyes. "Of course, yes. I was just thinking about taking a little stroll together after breakfast. You know, just to get some fresh air. And maybe talk a bit."

"That sounds like a good idea. Better than getting shitfaced before noon, anyway," Crowley adds as he cracks an egg into a frying pan. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," Aziraphale says hurriedly, "Just the, uh...weather. And the birds. I remember you like birds."

Crowley keeps his head low and eyes on the omelette to hide a the ever-present grin he had on when he was with Aziraphale. He actually didn't smile much when he was on his own, he had a bit of a resting bitch face. But he couldn't hide his happiness when he was around his angel.

"I never told you this, angel, but I don't actually have a favorite thing about Earth," Crowley says, still focused on the omelette. "I just saw a white dove that looked like you and said it. You were so happy, I didn't want to spoil it."

Aziraphale gazed at him so adoringly, his entire body moving with affection, and says,

"You really said that for me?"

"Of course I did, angel," he says in a 'why don't you know this already' tone, "I do everything for you."

The angel looks absolutely starstruck, an expression that Crowley missed because of his attention to the eggs in the pan. Internally, he was screaming. Here he is, acting all _domestic_ with Aziraphale, just torturing himself with the idea that this could be for the rest of eternity and he would love it. Imagining cooking breakfast for him every morning, waking up beside him, walking hand in hand, and, though Crowley tried not to think of it, kissing and kissing Aziraphale's lovely lips until the end of times.

"Breakfast is served," Crowley says, forcing himself back to reality. He flips the omelette into the air and onto a plate with extreme talent and precision, with an insufferable showoff smirk towards the angel.

"Oh, lovely!" Aziraphale exclaimed, rising and sitting at the kitchen bar across from Crowley. Crowley stayed standing at the counter to eat his omelette, sneaking glances at the angel when he thought he wasn't looking. Thousands of years had passed, but Aziraphale's face was just as wonderful as it was the day they met.

"This is absolutely HEAVENLY, Crowley!" the angel exclaims after his first bite of omelette.

"Well, I wouldn't call it heavenly, considering I made it, but it is one of my better dishes," Crowley says dryly.

The two eat in comfortable silence. Awkward, tense silences were almost unheard of in their very, very long friendship. It was so nice to just be able to _be_ with someone without having to constantly think of ways to fill the silence.

"You know, you really didn't have to do this," Aziraphale says, still looking at the food in front of him, taking dainty bites of the omelette.

"Of course I didn't," Crowley replies easily, flashing the angel a smile. "I _wanted_ to."

Aziraphale flushes, shifting in his seat with restrained happiness. "Oh. Well, thank you, then. I really love it, Crowley."

_And I love you._

The thought is in and out of his head in lightning speed, a phrase so rehearsed and longed for that it almost shoots out of his egg-filled mouth on the spot. He settles for quietly clearing his throat to stem the words that so badly wanted to be spoken.

"Don't mention it. I rarely get to cook for anyone but myself. It's my pleasure." Crowley says through a mouthful of food.

After the two had finished their food, they set out for their promised walk around London. Crowley so desperately wanted to hold Aziraphale's hand like he did last night, but kept his hands firmly shoved into his pockets to keep himself from grabbing the angel's hand.

"So..." Crowley begins, nervousness rising in his stomach in anticipation of what he is going to stay next. "Is this permanent? I mean, would you like to stay at my place for the next while?"

Aziraphale visibly tenses, his breath caught in his throat, and Crowley regrets opening his idiot mouth in the first place.

"I know you said I move too fast for you, and I'm sorry about that, angel, I just didn't know if--"

"Yes."

Crowley stops mid-sentence and looks at the angel incredulously. "You mean that?"

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, glances at Crowley nervously, and repeats himself. "Yes, Crowley. I would like to stay with you. As you said, we're on our own side now."

Crowley's heart is so full of joy and love and absolute adoration that he feels it may burst. He breaks out into a full-fledged grin, and in a bold moment of bravery, takes his left hand from its pocket and grabs Aziraphale's hand. The electric current was still there, and Crowley wonders once again why he waited so long to do that.

Aziraphale lets out a small gasp before tightening his fingers around Crowley's hand. The current grew stronger, and Crowley likes to think it's because Aziraphale enjoys it. 

"I suppose this comes with the territory then, Crowley?" he asks breathlessly, still staring straight ahead. 

"Only if you want it to, angel." Crowley says quietly, just audible enough for Aziraphale to heat. "I don't want to rush you."

"Rush me into what?"

Shit. He let himself slip up again. He hurries to correct himself.

"Well, I didn't mean like, rush into anything more, unless of course you want that, you probably don't though, so I just meant in the general sense of moving too fast, I mean first I ask you to move in, then share a room, and now--" 

"It's quite all right, Crowley," Aziraphale cuts him off gently. "This is fine. Friends hold hands all the time, don't they? It's been 6,000 years, we know each other well enough."

Friends.

Nothing more.

Despite the happiness and joy that came with holding Aziraphale's hand, all he could think about is that he and that angel would never, could never, be anything more than friends. He was lucky as is to be considered a friend, but that victory in it of itself seemed hollow.

"Friends, yes. That sounds like us." Crowley managed to get out around the lump in his throat.

"Of course. We're friends." Aziraphale says quietly.

"Forever and always, angel."  

 

 

 


	2. The New Normal

_Aziraphale_

 

Things were different now.

Aziraphale had lost everything. Heaven (which was also the only family he ever knew), his bookstore, his sense of allegiance and identity, and just about everything else that he had possessed just 48 hours ago.

But now he had something new. Something exciting, forbidden. Well, not very forbidden anymore, since he had no ties to anyone who _could_ forbid it, but it still carried a sense of attractive danger and adrenaline that Aziraphale didn't always know how to deal with. He had hid behind his loyalty to Heaven to enable a safe distance between himself and the, we'll call it, _temptation_ s of this planet, and other equally as tempting variables that found themselves into his lap.

It was Crowley, of course. It was, always has been, and will always be Crowley. Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to leap onto a park bench and proclaim his love for the demon, and let the entire goddamn world know of the intensity of his feelings, but although entertaining the idea was cathartic, he knew he would never have it in him to actually do it. But an angel can dream, can't he?

But that's all it was: a dream. A fallacy he created himself because he knew it could never be real. Demons don't feel love, angels can't taint purity.

But neither of them were really angels or demons, were they? Demons cast out of hell are pretty much on the same level as angels cast out of Heaven. Their innards were still hellfire and holy water, but they don't have the same code of conduct now that they no longer have any sort of allegiance to speak of. So maybe it wasn't an impossible scenario. Just very, very, very...unlikely.

Aziraphale is broken out of his existential contemplation by Crowley entering the bedroom they shared. The angel, still freaked out by the concept of sharing a bed, was seated at the foot of his bed, holding a forgotten book in his hands.

"Hey," Crowley said, a small smile playing on his lips. "Do you fancy doing some shopping today?"

"Shopping?" Aziraphale says, his face contorting into confusion. "Why would we go shopping, of all things?"

Crowley smiles again, leaning forward (making Aziraphale subconsciously lean forward as well) to deliver his next sentence, "Two words: Book. Shopping."

Aziraphale remains slightly confused for a moment before breaking into a dazzling smile. Books! After the bookshop burnt down, all Aziraphale had left were the ones that didn't get entirely scorched to cinder; very few of them still readable.

"Yeah," Crowley says, clearly enjoying the angel's reaction. "I have built-in shelves in one of the plant rooms, with nothing on them. If you're going to stay here, we've got to have some books for you."

Aziraphale's heart swells until he thinks it may burst. He loves Crowley so very, very much in this moment, and desperately hopes the demon can feel it. Despite being Hell incarnate, the man was always finely attuned to Aziraphale's needs.

"Oh, Crowley, I am _ever_ so grateful, this has to be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me!" Aziraphale exclaims, his voice riddled with joy and spirit.

Crowley's face turns hard instantly, crossing the room in seconds and pulling the angel to a standing position by his lapel. He rips his sunglasses off and his eyes drill into Aziraphale's, and the angel feels the heat and anger boiling in Crowley's chest. 

"I am **_NOT_** nice, angel, I'm a demon, I can _never_ be nice! Don't you ever call me that ever again," he says, practically spitting at this point, his teeth clenched and his eyes almost entirely yellow. 

 Aziraphale doesn't feel afraid, he never does with Crowley. The closeness of the demon's face to him makes his heart beat faster, and all he can focus on are the lovely yellow eyes that he can't help but stare adoringly into. Even now, all Aziraphale sees is the beauty and radiance of Anthony J Crowley. Crowley lets out a frustrated growl before dropping his hold and stalking out of the bedroom. 

"If you want to go shopping today, then I'm leaving in five minutes. Be there or I'll drive off." he yells over his shoulder as he storms off.

Aziraphale, again, is not afraid, nor intimidated. Instead, he feels immense sadness. Imagine living such a sorrowful existence that you only feel rage when someone says you're nice. His heart breaks for Crowley. How can someone hate themselves so much and be so bitter about who they are, that they explode over one kind word? Aziraphale can't, and doesn't want to, imagine living in such personal turmoil. He had hoped that maybe after being cast out of Hell, he would have softened round the edges a bit now that he had no one to be loyal to. 

It doesn't matter. Aziraphale knows, deep down, that Crowley is capable of being nice. And maybe, deep down, capable of love as well. 

The angel stands, placing the book neatly on the foot of Crowley's bed, and hurries to catch up with Crowley.

 

***

 

_Crowley_

 

"Nice".

Who does that angel think he is?! How could he ever, _ever_ , say that about him? Crowley was not nice. Crowley is a wretched, unforgivable creature with no morals or heart to speak of. He was Hell personified, evil incarnate, and definitely not _nice_.

Aziraphale had called him "nice", and "good", and "kind" before, and although it absolutely infuriated Crowley, it was also quite endearing. Imagine being so optimistic and goodhearted that you could call a literal demon "nice".

Crowley doesn't have that inherent optimism. He's skeptical and analytical at best, cynical and jaded at worst. After he Fell, he lost a lot of the happiness and wonder that came with being an angel, and even though he wouldn't go back for the world, sometimes he misses feeling so happy all the time. Watching Aziraphale's loving, kind persona was both heart-melting and painfully wistful.

Aziraphale's footsteps were heard briskly padding closer, and Crowley shook off his irritation to meet the angel with a smile as he caught up.

"Nice of you to show. Thought I was going to have to go all on my own," he said, winking. 

Aziraphale smiles widely before remarking, "I thought you were going to actually leave me behind! Did a jog for the first time in centuries, it was really quite invigorating, if I do say so myself."

"Oh, angel, I'd never leave you behind. You're stuck with me," Crowley says, grinning down at Aziraphale.

"Yes, it appears I am. What a misfortune," Aziraphale teases back.

"Oh, you know you love me!" Crowley says, shouldering him a bit and making him stumble.

"Yes, I suppose I do," Aziraphale says quietly, almost as if to himself. Crowley pretends to not have heard; he prefers not to think about that at the moment.

"So, books," Crowley says, as they're stepping over the threshold into the street. "Where does one go to buy them? I don't read books, they seem a bit pointless."

Aziraphale looks hurt for a moment, but it quickly turns to exasperation. "Everything peaceful and relaxing is pointless to a demon."

"Oh, not everything," Crowley says casually, "Why do you think we have all the famous composers? They're completely off the shits, but the music they make is quite appreciated in Hell."

"Really?" Aziraphale scoffs, ducking to seat himself in Crowley's car. "Demons like classical music?"

"Well, this demon," Crowley says as he turns the key, the car roaring to life.

" _You_ like classical music?" Aziraphale says incredulously.

"No, angel. I don't," Crowley says patiently. "It was a joke. Can't stand it. I need words, something that's loud enough and wordy enough to where I don't have time to contemplate the universe and its inner workings."

"Oh," Aziraphale says softly. "That does make more sense."

Crowley speeds off down the street, going much too fast as always, Aziraphale clutching the arm rest in fear. 

"I do wish you'd go slower, Crowley, I'm simply not built for this," Aziraphale frets, his eyes wide and fixed on the road ahead.

"Oh, angel, you're built for so many more things than you'd think! Enjoy it!" Crowley says, pressing the accelerator ever closer to the floor of the car.

The drive is long, much longer than Aziraphale probably anticipated, and as the city melts away to give room to plains and paddocks and trees, the angel comments on this.

"Where are we going? We've driven clear out of London," he asks worriedly, looking around and out of the windows.

"Oh, you don't want a London bookstore, do you?" Crowley asks rhetorically, quite enjoying the effect he was having on the angel. "I'm certain you've already gone through them with a fine-toothed comb!"

Aziraphale settles into his seat, apparently accepting this. "Yes, you're correct. Oh!" he suddenly exclaims, his worry evaporating into excitement. "We could go on our picnic!"

Crowley's heart jumped at the mention of that picnic, bringing up the memory of the time Aziraphale first said, "You move too fast for me, Crowley", which led to many decades of pondering this in the shower, wondering how 6,000 years could possibly be considered "too fast". But he feigns ignorance.

"What picnic are you on about?" Crowley asks, keeping his view on the road.

"Oh, you must remember, I'm sure you do," Aziraphale says, looking funnily at the demon. "Soho, London, sometime in the 1960s? When I gave you that horrible thermos of holy water?"

Well, Crowley isn't going to get out of this one, so he caves and pretends to have suddenly remembered. "Oh, yes, that picnic, right. How could I have forgotten."

Aziraphale seems pleased with himself. "Yes, I knew you must remember. So, what do you say?"

Crowley knows what to say: yes. But a picnic? Really? Aziraphale was always pushing the envelope for activities to do with Crowley that teetered on the edge of acceptable demonly behavior and soft, sappy angelic notions. Dinner, drinking, talking, that was more his speed. Although sitting on a blanket in a field with a bottle (or two) of wine with Aziraphale was a nice concept, it didn't really fit the demon mold. He was already pushing it with going book shopping with the angel.

"Uhhmmm, eeuuugghhhhhh, ehhhhh" Crowley made several uncertain noises before deciding, 'fuck it', and diving in.

"Sure. BUT!" he adds as Aziraphale's face lights up, "I don't want you thinking I'm some soft, nice, undemonly creature. I am not nice, I am not kind, and going on a picnic proves absolutely nothing."

"Very well, Crowley," Aziraphale says, stifling a smile, cutting his eyes toward the demon, and stirring happily in his seat.

The drive was about an hour and a half, would have been more if the M25 was acting up that day, which, miraculously, it wasn't. The old car pulls up to a building painted in several shades of blue, with colorful lights in the display window.

"Here we are," Crowley says, with a bit of a dramatic flourish. "The Chaucer Bookshop. Home to as many weird and wonderful treasures as a wayward angel could want."

Aziraphale's face is like that of a child's on Christmas morning as they exit the car and enter. Watching the angel look about the shop in eager and unadulterated joy sent pangs of love and longing to Crowley's heart, effectively paralyzing him for a moment, leaving him to be unable to do much more than stare dreamily at Aziraphale.

"That's quite strange," Aziraphale says, slightly puzzled, turning to face Crowley. "This place feels very...loved. Unimaginably so."

Crowley's stomach plummets in what can only be described as a _oh shit_ moment as he and the angel make eye contact, and the expression on Aziraphale's face clears.

"Huh. It's gone now. Funny, that." the angel turns and continues perusing the books.

So maybe Aziraphale _can_ sense the love that comes off him in droves, albeit not with enough accuracy to pinpoint the source. Crowley wishes desperately that he was able to detect love supernaturally, but as a demon, the most he had access to was hate and disgust. Luckily, Aziraphale had never emitted that energy in the time they had known each other. Sure, he was wary and distrustful when they first met, but none of the inherent hate and vitriol other angels had for him. That's what drew him to the angel in the first place. That, and the fact that he gave away the extremely important flaming sword that was entrusted to him. Made him different, and Crowley liked that. 

Judging by the stars in Aziraphale's eyes, they were going to be there awhile. Crowley spun around dramatically looking for a seat, and once he locates one, he collapses into it and watches Aziraphale peruse the shelves. Such beauty he saw in his angel. Eventually, he nods off, leaving Aziraphale to browse alone. 

Crowley didn't dream much, but when he did, it was either hellfire or angel wings. Sometimes a combination of both. Taking a catnap in a bookstore didn't leave much time for deep dreams, but flashes of fire and pain seared through his mind, reliving the experience of his wings being burnt to cinders and replaced with raven-black feathers, the fire chasing its way up his back and neck, and he feels the itchy pins-and-needles sensation of super fast-forwarded feather growth. In reality, the demon had to live with ashes for wings until his next molt, keeping his bare wings tucked close to him in shame and embarrassment, but in his dreams the change happened immediately, and was quite an unpleasant sensation. 

But suddenly, the fire dimmed. Cool water flowed over his back, soothing and quenching his burning skin and tattered wings, and the itch to beat his wings against the ground subsided, and Crowley was at peace. 

He stirs awake, becoming aware of another presence. The demon opens his eyes and sees Aziraphale seated next to him, halfway through a dusty hardcover. The angel cuts his eyes over to Crowley, and a smile forms on his lips that sets the demon's heart aflutter.

"Good morning, my dear," Aziraphale says with a soft smile, closing his book. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake up."

Crowley blinks groggily, and becomes suddenly aware of a hand stroking his shoulder blades where his wings attach to his back. The feeling is new, forbidden, and entirely welcome.

Aziraphale seems to notice his hand too, and sharply pulls his hand away, much to Crowley's disappointment. "Oh, I'm sorry, Crowley, I just could tell you seemed to be in pain or distress, so I thought that, um, rubbing your back a bit would help. Silly, I know, but--"

"No, it wasn't silly," Crowley interrupts, stretching his limbs and popping a few joints. "I was having a bit of a rough time, it was, err, nice."

Aziraphale nods, a small smile forming. "Ah. Good to know, then. Well, I've finished shopping. It took me a bit, but I managed to find a few worth the trouble."

Crowley is now made aware of the massive pile of books on the opposite side of Aziraphale. Close to 30 titles, he judges.

"Blimey, angel, you think that's enough?" Crowley asks in disbelief.

"If it's too many, I understand, of course, I just, oh how I _love_ books, I couldn't just get a few--" Aziraphale begins to natter until Crowley cuts him off with a raised hand.

"It's fine. We'll take them all."

Aziraphale's face lights up in the exact way Crowley hoped it would, and it was worth dropping a hundred quid on useless heaps of paper just to see that smile.

"Oh, _thank yo_ u, Crowley, that's such a n--" Aziraphale stops short as he sees Crowley flash him a warning glance.

"Oh, never mind that. What a horrid thing to do, I don't know how you live with yourself, you foul creature. Buying an angel books? Despicable. Horrendous. Absolutely rubbish." he finishes with a covert smile.

"Thank you, angel, I'll be sure to add this to my list of misdeeds for today," Crowley says dryly, trying to disguise a dorky smile creeping onto his lips.

Aziraphale returns the stifled smile, and stands to pick up his books. There were quite a lot, so Crowley offhandedly miracled a small book cart for him, the sort you see in a library for shelving books.

The angel smiles again, but replaced it with a fake scowl. "Scoundrel," he mutters, entirely unconvincingly. Crowley just grins in return.

After dropping about £150 on books, the two return to Crowley's car, and begin the ride back to London.

"So," Aziraphale begins, the excitement radiating off of him already. "What about that picnic?"

Crowley groans, throwing his head back dramatically. "Oh, angel, do we have to? The state of the world, an angel begging a demon to have a picnic with him."

"I'm not, _begging_ , my dear, I'm merely _requesting_ ," Aziraphale says, attempting to sound long-suffering and painfully patient.

"Requesting, my arse," Crowley mutters distastefully. He then sighs, and relents. "Twist my arm any more and it'll come off. Fine. Next crop of trees we'll sort something out."

Aziraphale smiles (is that _smugnes_ s Crowley sees?) with satisfaction, and settles into his seat with a strangely triumphant air.

Truth be told, Crowley really _did_ enjoy the concept of a picnic with Aziraphale. He enjoyed going out to eat with the angel, it did him good to see him so happy. Crowley wasn't much a fan of eating, but Aziraphale loved it, so that's what they did. But a picnic? It had too much of a romantic element to it that mildly terrified the demon. He had, for so long, wanted that with Aziraphale, but the process of actually _doing_ it made Crowley weak at the knees. It wasn't that he wasn't ready for a life with Aziraphale, it's that he is absolutely and completely terrified of coming so far to fall so short. Allowing himself to be romantic and lovey-dovey with the angel was a certain trap for death if Aziraphale felt nothing for him.

"Oh!" Aziraphale shouts, jarring Crowley out of his inner turmoil. "Right there, right there!" he points excitedly.

He's pointing to a small outcropping of trees about a half kilometer out, and Crowley has to admit it's rather scenic. The angel has a good eye for idealism.

"Alright, if you say so," Crowley agrees, slowing to a stop as the trees grow closer. He parks the Bentley on the side of the winding country road, and he gets out and stretches. Aziraphale joins him, and the angel is grinning like a fool. They make their way to the trees, and find a grassy spot in the shade. Crowley miracles a blanket and two bottles of wine, and the two seat themselves on the ground.

Aziraphale, to put it lightly, was glowing with happiness. Now, if Crowley wasn't such a lovestruck idiot, he would notice the way the angel looked at him, how his eyes traced his lips and the almost literal heart eyes he had going on, and would have been able to safely deduce that Aziraphale, was, in fact, head over fucking heels in love with him.

But that's not the case. Doubt and yearning clouds the mind, and Crowley is so afraid of rejection that he simply doesn't see the screeching Geiger counter of love emanating off the being in front of him. He just sees a perfect, beautiful creature, that can never love him the way Crowley loves him.

"So," Crowley begins, opening the first wine bottle with a deft flick of the recently-miracled bottle opener. "What's so important about a picnic, eh? We could be dining at the Ritz, angel, but you want to sit in a grassy field in the middle of nowhere and get drunk with a demon."

Aziraphale flushes a bit, and stammers out a reply, "Oh, I, uh, I'm not sure, exactly, I just thought it would be, err, pleasant, to take part in some earthly activities and whatnot. I always see humans doing it together, and I thought it might be rather enjoyable. Am I mistaken?" the angel asks, his eyes fretting and his hands fidgeting.

Crowley blinks, taking a half-second to process the comparison between human couples and the two of them. "Well, uh, I guess it is rather nice, it's just a little...I don't know, more _intimate_  of a setting compared to the places we usually go, and I wondered if there was a specific reason."

Stupid. What the hell kind of question is that? Crowley might as well be thirsting for rejection.

Aziraphale's face freezes for a moment, but regains his composure. "Oh, I'm not sure, it's just nice to have some variety in one's life."

The two drink in silence for a bit, enjoying the comfortable quiet between them, utterly at peace with the world. Crowley briefly takes off his sunglasses, wiping away a smudge with the corner of his shirt. Aziraphale speaks up, rather nervously.

"Oh, Crowley, I do wish you'd take those silly sunglasses off."

Crowley sits up straight, narrowing his eyes. "Why would I do that?"

Aziraphale stirs uncomfortably, shifting his weight in his chair. "Oh, I don't know, it's just that it's just the two of us, no humans to, err,  _offend,_ or anything, so I thought you could take them off for me."

Crowley's face breaks into a amused smile, relishing the angel's choice of words. "For _you_ , you say? Oh, well, in that case..." 

He chucks the sunglasses into the grove of tree around them, and leans forward to give Aziraphale a good look at the golden snake-eyes. The angle blushes, dropping his eyes briefly before focusing his whole attention on those lovely eyes.

"I do rather like them, I must say," Aziraphale says hesitantly, a small smile forming. "Very unique. Pretty, even."

_Pretty?_

Crowley's never been called "pretty" before. Not once. Not even by Aziraphale, up to this point. It's a rather nice feeling, being complimented. Not that he'd have the experience, of course, but this one moment felt more special than the rest of the moments during the day. 

"You think I'm pretty?" Crowley says, leaning back and cackling in amusement. "Aziraphale, Angel of God Herself, thinks I'm pretty!"

Aziraphale becomes flustered, stammering out a rebuttal, "Well, yes, objectively, you're very, err, very pretty. Handsome. Charming. Hot. Whatever they're calling it these days."

Crowley laughs even harder, partly because of the glee of being complimented by his angel, party to cover his absolute giddiness over the entire ridiculous situation. 

"Oh, angel, you always know what to say. Although," he adds, sounding rather serious, "one could say the same about you."

Aziraphale stills, glancing down at the blanket they're seated on. "Oh. Um...thank you, Crowley."

Crowley's heart sinks. Of course Aziraphale doesn't want to be flirted with. He probably wasn't even flirting at all, Crowley realizes. Just being the normal, honest, heartbreaking Aziraphale. 

"Never mind. Wrong thing to say. Not nearly drunk enough for it to make sense." Crowley says, taking a swig directly from the wine bottle, trying to hide his hurt feelings.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I just didn't know that...well, I didn't know demons had a concept of beauty." Aziraphale says hesitantly.

Crowley swallows and puts the bottle down, feeling a little more able to speak his mind with each sip. "We don't. Have you seen the rest of us? Have you, have you fuckin' seen the, the big ass fly on Beelzebub's head? Or, or the goddamn LIZARD thing on Ligur's? It's just, it's simply disgusting, none of them do laundry or anything, I have to get my clothes dry cleaned every time I go down there, it's horrendous. BUT," he adds, punctuating the word with a finger jab. "I do have a concept of beauty, and that concept, is you."

Aziraphale laughs self-consciously, smiling at the ground for a moment before raising his head to look deep into the demon's yellow eyes, blushing a bit. "You shouldn't say such things, Crowley."

"Eh? Why not, then?" Crowley asks, feeling cockier by the minute. "Does it offend the natural order of things? Am I going to cause a hole in the space-time continuum if I say that you, Aziraphale, are beautiful? I mean, that's what God made you as, why would she make something ugly then? Besides me, of course."

Aziraphale's mouth parts in surprise, not entirely sure what to say next. 

"I wouldn't call you ugly, Crowley."

"Oh, of course not, have you seen me? I'm a fuckin' _masterpiece_ ," Crowley says, leaning back to give the angel a good look. "But I had to ask all those silly questions, my wings burnt to black and now I'm a spot on the face of God, and here I am, ugliest creature of all."

"I do wish you'd stop saying things like that," Aziraphale says quietly. Was that sadness on his face?

"And why would that be?" Crowley provokes. Suddenly, he needs to know. He needs to know if Aziraphale feels anything for him. Anything at all. He has to make him _say_ it.

Aziraphale shifts his weight uncomfortably, clearly out of his depth here. "Because I rather like you, and I don't like it when you say such horrid things about yourself. It makes me unhappy to see you unhappy."

Well, not quite a declaration of love, but it's enough of a thread for Crowley to hang onto. At least the angel admits to liking him. It wasn't that long ago (a matter of days, really) that he denied even feeling a platonic bond with him. So maybe progress is being made. It only took about 6,000 years.

"All right then, angel," Crowley concedes. "I won't say things like that, but in return, you can't say nice things to my plants. I heard you last night crooning at them; you're going to give them the wrong idea."

Aziraphale smiles sheepishly, caught in the crime. "I can't imagine they would grow any better with you yelling at them, threatening them with the garbage disposal, being so mean to them! I have to let them know they'e loved."

"Oh, angel," Crowley says with a fond smile. "You can take the angel out of Heaven, but not the Heaven out of the angel."

"I suppose you're right," Aziraphale says hesitantly. 

"I'm always right, angel." Crowley replies. "Well, better sober up if we want to return home by dark."

"Agreed," Aziraphale says. 

Both of them strain, their faces turning red and veins rising to the surface of their skin as two bottles worth of wine is replaced into the bottles, which Crowley stores in the back of the Bentley. 

The two drive home in comfortable silence, each wrapped up in their own version of how the picnic played out. Crowley can only hope that Aziraphale caught onto his pathetic attempts at flirting, but knowing the angel, that was unlikely. 

Hopefully, tomorrow would prove better. Crowley isn't sure what tomorrow brings, but he can only hope for luck and requited love. 

 

 


	3. Nesting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long, I'm trying to write long chapters. enjoy!

_Aziraphale_

 

Aziraphale had been arranging and rearranging nearly 150 books scavenged from every niche bookshop in a 75 mile radius for almost an hour and a half. The homey, worn titles did clash so terribly with the stark, slate-grey walls, and the angel had a insatiable itch to buy as many soft and friendly items as he could to fill the harsh space.

"Angel, I think it's good," Crowley says tiredly. He had been watching him fret over book placement the whole time, and Aziraphale felt a smidge of guilt for subjecting him to his scattered thought process. 

Aziraphale turns to face the demon, leaning against the bookshelf wall. "Oh, I know it's _good_ , I just want it to be--"

"Perfect?" Crowley finishes the sentence. 

"In a word, yes." Aziraphale replies. "If I'm going to be staying here, this place needs some, we'll call it, homey touches."

"'Homey touches'?" Crowley groans. "Look, I like it like this. It's sophisticated, modern, grand, nothing like the literal hellhole I came from. It's got plants. Plants are homey, right?"

Aziraphale sighs patiently. "Yes, but it needs more."

"You're nesting, angel. Just admit it," Crowley states, still unable to keep the tiredness out of his voice. 

"I am not _nesting_ , Crowley, I'm just...making this feel like home" Aziraphale tries to explain. The comfort of the bookshop was one of the only safe spaces he had that didn't involve Crowley being by his side. Of course, Crowley always did feel remarkably like home in an odd way, but something about the starkness and vastness about the place felt uncomfortably like heaven, but with a different color palette. 

"That's the definition of nesting," Crowley counters. "You're just trying to make yourself cozy, but I wouldn't really call this flat cozy."

Aziraphale sighs, a small arrow of guilt pressing on him. He doesn't want Crowley to think that he isn't grateful for this, or that his home is not good enough, he just wishes and mourns, ever so desperately, for the comfort of his bookshop.

"Can I just have this one room then?" Aziraphale asks tentatively. "I can fill it with books and a sofa and the rest of this flat can be how you like it? All grand and stately and whatnot."

Crowley nods slowly and indecisively, mulling it over. "I suppose there's nothing wrong with that." 

Aziraphale's heart lights up with energy and happiness. For a demon, he was ever so kind. Better not tell him that, however.

"Oh, thank you Crowley! I just so dearly miss my bookshop, and I suppose I was just trying to make this feel like home."

"Well, it is your home, angel," Crowley says softly. "No point in not letting you have a say in how it looks."

Aziraphale beams, totally oblivious to the way Crowley was melting at the sight. He collects the rest of the books and meticulously places them in their spots, turning on his heel to face Crowley with his hands behind his back. "Would you care for a spot of lunch, Crowley?"

Crowley smiles, unable to keep his "cool demon" face on. "I would love to. Where?"

It's Aziraphale's turn to smile knowingly at this question. "I would actually enjoy cooking for you, Crowley. Consider it a returned favor for the absolutely scrumptious omelette you made a few weeks ago."

Crowley grins amusedly. "You know how to cook, angel? I thought you only knew where to find food made for you."

Aziraphale laughs nervously, clearing his throat. "Well, actually, I don't really know how to cook, not anything elaborate, anyways, I was just hoping that, err, maybe...you would teach me to cook?" He looks at Crowley anxiously, hoping for a good reaction.

"Well, I suppose a cooking lesson couldn't hurt, if you're going to be staying here. Can't expect a three-course meal every day, now can we?" Crowley says good-naturedly. 

Aziraphale smiles broadly, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. "Righty-ho. We best get started then, shall we?"

"I suppose we shall," Crowley says, standing and stretching his gangly limbs.

To be honest, Aziraphale did not have much interest in cooking. The mystery of the preparation and unfamiliarity with every ingredient was part of the thrill of eating. Knowing exactly what and how something comes together ruins the ambiance of it, he thinks. It's much better to be surprised, in his opinion. But, he adores Crowley, and everything that Crowley does. So cooking it is.

"What would you like to cook, angel?" Crowley asked, in a bit of a show-offy manner, if Aziraphale thinks so.

The item of cooking did not matter, truly, it was just time that he wanted to spend with Crowley. Their usual dance of business first, personal time later, is gradually wearing down now that there really was no "business" to be had between them. Sometimes Aziraphale was glad for this. Constantly meeting under the pretense of "business" made him feel as if he really were _fraternizing_ , even if they did go out to eat or drink afterwards. But living together, cooking together, eating together, being _together_? Now _that_ was something the angel could get behind.

"Oh, I don't know," Aziraphale begins, pretending to think long and hard. "How about an omelette? I did so enjoy the one you made a few weeks ago."

"Oh, you've got to have a little variety in life!" Crowley says, scoffing slightly. "Can't just have the same breakfast every morning, you have to try and explore new things!"

"I do try new things--"

"Yes, but you really have to get out there and do things and experience everything there is to experience, after all, the world could end at any time, and where would you be if you had never strayed from the simplest of things in life and spent your days cooking and eating omelettes--"

"Crowley. Crowley." Aziraphale cuts the rambling short, interrupting the demon twice..

"Yeah?"

"You're out of eggs, aren't you?"

Crowley shuts his mouth, averting his eyes and scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, in the sense of the word, yes, we are out of eggs, angel."

Aziraphale smiles fondly. "Well, I guess that means we have to go out and get some more. But for the love of Heaven, slow down and do not kill us all before breakfast!"

 

***

 

_Crowley_

 

The two were in the car, barreling down High Street to buy some eggs--not any old eggs, no, special "free range" chicken eggs from a place on the outskirts of London that Aziraphale SWEARS has the only eggs in the country worth eating.

"So what was I saying? Oh! AirPods! That's not our lot's at all, why on Earth would we create something useful for humans? Absolutely not." Crowley says, adamant.

"No, I'm saying is the motive behind it," Aziraphale insists, gesturing with his hands like he always does with Crowley. "They're expensive, elitist, inconvenient, and they get lost. Can't be useful if you can't find the blasted thing."

"Well, keeping the consumerist capitalism of the free world in check has to be beneficial to the Christians in those countries, how else will you keep a following." Crowley retorts, swerving around a stopped car. 

Aziraphale grips the arm rest tighter, but then says in a smug, "checkmate" tone, "Well, we all know Apple is fairly corrupt, and that Apple products are purely for show, and are overpriced. What do you say to that?"

"Look, just because we had something to do with the fame of Steve Jobs, and the death of, actually, doesn't mean we commandeered Apple in order to spite the middle class."

Their argument is cut short as Crowley squeals to a stop in front of the oh-so-enlightened organic food shop. They stroll into the shop, Crowley thoroughly uninterested, but allowing Aziraphale to buy his elitist eggs.

"I bet organic food was one of your lot's, too," Crowley said under his breath, just loud enough for the angel to hear it. Aziraphale shot him a look as he paid for the eggs.

Once home, Crowley took great pride in showing off his cooking skills, and although Aziraphale was less than adept at the art, they soon had some fairly decent omelettes that even Crowley caved and sampled, much to the satisfaction of Aziraphale.

"I don't really know why you love eating so much, angel," Crowley says around his first, and final, bite of omelette. 

"You're the one who makes the food, my dear boy," Aziraphale states, "and I could say the same about your sleeping habits."

"Oi!" Crowley exclaims, not quite ready to delve into why he likes to sleep so much. "I'm allowed indulgences, same as you."

"Precisely."

Aziraphale continues in eat in silence, and, once again, Crowley can feel his heart ache with unrestrained love for him. The feeling of love for the angel was very much like that of the tides. The love was always there, but sometimes it rushed and overflowed his demonic heart, and all he could do was stay limp in the riptide of feelings. It was moments like these when he began to seriously doubt the angels capability of sensing love. The demon was like a neon IMAX lighthouse beacon of love for him, surely he'd be able to at least sense something?

Aziraphale finishes his food, and miracles the plate clean, replacing it in the slate grey cabinets.

"You really should add some color to your life, Crowley." he says, rather disapprovingly. "All this grey really does dampen things."

"Angel, you've already converted my second bedroom into a nesting ground, I'm not about to let you paint my entire flat in pastels." Crowley says, leaning back into his seat and grumbling a bit.

Crowley did like the softness and coziness of Aziraphale; the angel had a knack for weaving love and a sense of home into his life, but some things are just not meant to be cozy and warm. That includes a demon's living space. What kind of demon would he be if he had throw rugs and worn sofas all about the place.

 _The same kind of demon who loves an angel,_ he thinks.

"Well maybe not _entirely_ , but maybe a few accent colors would be nice." Aziraphale says stubbornly.

"We're not doing 'accent colors'." Crowley states firmly. "Isn't one bedroom enough?"

Aziraphale sighs patiently. "It's always been more than enough, you allowing me to live here. I just get...carried away, sometimes."

Crowley, despite himself, is filled with affection for the angel. He has never met someone so soft, gentle, and effeminate, but also so incredibly strong and brave. Brave enough to suggest making a demon's home into another book shop.

The two leave it at that, and leave for a morning stroll. They often bickered about the route to take, Aziraphale always insisting to take a scenic route, while Crowley enjoyed the noise and hubbub of the streets. So they parted ways for a few hours. Besides, it was good to have some alone time. Spending every second of the day with Aziraphale was nice, but in comparison to their usual once a decade dinner, it could be a bit much at times. As long as they were together at the end of the day, it would be enough.

 

***

 

 _Aziraphale_  

 

It was always quite relaxing in the park, what with the ducks and geese and songbirds passing through, always up for a small treat Aziraphale would bring for them. It was also a good time to be alone with his thoughts, something that was difficult in the presence of Crowley. Usually his mind was occupied by attempting to peer through those sunglasses and see his lovely yellow snake eyes, or, more frequently than the angel would admit, imagining kissing those perfect lips of his. It was all a pipe dream, of course, but it was rather nice pipe dream.

Aziraphale strolled along the riverside (it was more of a creek, but Azirphale is fanciful enough to call it a river), utterly at peace with himself and with the world. The threat of Heaven and Hell coming to find and kill them was always in the back of his mind, but the angel was capable of being hyper-vigilant and still at peace at the same time. 

The walk was nice, the weather nicer, but there began to be a rather unpleasant feeling about the place, and Aziraphale kept checking over his shoulder for something, someone, anything. It would be so much easier to be in his true form, what with all the eyes he had, but generally speaking, humans aren't fond of that sort of thing.

Eventually, the feeling began to be too much, and the angel decides to leave. If anything could ease his discomfort, it would be Crowley.

 

***

 

_Crowley_

 

Crowley paces back and forth in his flat, unable to keep from worrying about Aziraphale. He had felt something when he was on his walk, something that felt dangerous and wrong. Normally, Crowley isn't afraid of much, but the fear of something happening to him, and by extension, Aziraphale, put the fear of God in him.

The door to the flat creaks open, and the demon is on high alert, ready to battle whatever creature came through those doors.

Aziraphale.

Crowley's body relaxes, and he throws himself in the direction of the angel. 

"Did you feel it too?" Aziraphale asks, fear in his eyes.

"Yes."

Silence. The gravity of the situation weighs on them, making the air tense enough to cut with a knife.

"I knew we couldn't stay off their radars for long," Crowley says softly, staring at the wall to the left of Aziraphale, unable to keep the desperation and sadness at bay. They almost had it. They almost had their happily ever after. But it was stupid and naive to think that they would get off scot-free. Almost as stupid and naive to think that Aziraphale loved him back.

Aziraphale shudders a bit, and his wings fold into this dimension and curl around him tightly. Crowley aches for him, the fear he must be experiencing to make him need a physical shield like that. He folds his own wings into this dimension, and encircles them both protectively; very reminiscent of the way Aziraphale shielded him from the rain on the first day that they met.

Aziraphale relaxes a few millimeters, and shyly looks at Crowley's glossy black wings. Crowley notices the difference between his perfectly manicured wings, and the angel's dusty, ruffled wings so desperately in need of preening.

"Angel, your wings are a wreck," he comments, trying to steer the conversation towards more palatable topics. "Don't you ever preen them?"

Aziraphale chuckles nervously, still focused on Crowley's wings. "Not in a few decades, I'm afraid. Never got around to it. Are they that bad?"

Crowley tilts his head a little, examining them. "Eehhhh, a little. Why don't you let me preen them for you? We need something to take our minds off this."

Aziraphale looks surprised, and honestly, so is Crowley. The audacity of asking to participate in a rather intimate gesture shocks him. He really is hopeless, isn't he?

"Well, I wouldn't want to be a bother..."

"No, not at all," Crowley hurries to say. "It would be a pleasure." He internally winces at the word "pleasure".

"Oh, all right then," Aziraphale agrees, looking rather pleased at the thought.

Crowley leads him into Aziraphale's nesting room, and has him lay on his stomach on the worn out carpet he had acquired at an estate sale a few days back. Aziraphale settles in, and spreads one wing out lazily.

Crowley sit down, and takes that wing into his lap. In 6,000 years, never has he once touched Aziraphale's wings--or anyone else's wings, for that matter. Sometimes demons preened each other, but Crowley was on the surface so much that he rarely took part. It was a rather intimate and personal gesture, to be fair, and Crowley wasn't the intimate or personal type. Excluding Aziraphale, of course. Ever the exception, that angel.

His hands hover hesitatingly over Aziraphale's wings, his fingers dancing a bit as he tries to formulate the best way of going about this. He always preened his wings meticulously, his fingers working every barb into alignment, picking out every piece of crumbled keratin, and working the muscles in his wings until they were loose and relaxed. He wasn't sure if the angel would be keen on the idea of a deep clean approach to his obviously neglected wings. 

He decides "fuck it", and begins to skillfully work his fingers into Aziraphale's coverts, smoothing the barbs of the feathers into alignment, stroking and pressing his fingers into the lovely, soft down, picking out feather dust, and not missing a single detail. The first thing he had noticed about Aziraphale's wings were that they were a little off-white, not the gleaming celestial ivory that he encountered in the Garden of Eden. But as he worked deeper, brushing the dust and decades of neglect out of the feathers, they returned to their brilliant white, and Crowley feels a deep sense of satisfaction at his preening skills.

Aziraphale sighs, and Crowley can feel the muscles in his wings relax and loosen, and the demon takes this moment to massage those muscles a bit, sending the angel into an almost comical state of contentment and relaxation. Crowley feels a little rush of adoration, and is glad that Aziraphale's back is to him and he can't see the stupid grin spreading across his face.

"You like that, don't you, angel?" Crowley says softly, but cockily. "Maybe you should preen yourself more often."

"Or you could do it for me," Aziraphale says lazily, not opening his eyes. "I don't see the point in doing it myself if I can have you do it instead."

Crowley is a little shocked at the brashness of his statement, his fingers stalling in the middle of fixing a tattered secondary. Even in Hell, it was taboo to groom the same demon too often. It was treated as a business transaction, much like a haircut. Regular preening is more akin to a lover's activity.

Aziraphale stirs at the sudden lack of touch. "You don't have to, it just feels, er, nice. To have someone else do it. Funny, isn't it?"

Crowley goes back to preening, still processing his request for regular social grooming. The though occurs to him that if Aziraphale wants him to preen him, maybe it would be a two way street. The thought of Aziraphale's lovely hands in his wings makes him go weak at the knees. 

"S--sure," Crowley says, his voice cracking a bit. "Sure. If you'd like me to. And maybe...maybe you could do mine, as well."

Aziraphale nods a bit, still in his almost catatonic state of relaxation. "Perhaps. I wouldn't do as good of a job as you do, but whatever you'd like, my dear."

Crowley says nothing, just continues working on those beautiful, but sadly neglected wings. He's onto the primaries now, and he briefly makes his fingers a little more claw-like for the detail work. He's experimenting with stroking a claw down the shaft of the feather, a little more than preening at this point. He feels Aziraphale shudder a little, and he draws back, feeling stupid. All the angel wanted was a simple preening, he shouldn't have gotten more intimate than that. Pushing his luck.

"No, I rather liked that," Aziraphale mumbles into his arms, where his head has been buried for the past few minutes. "Do it again."

Crowley runs his claws down the shaft of each primary, and he feels the muscles in his wings twitch accordingly. For some reason, doing the same to himself didn't feel nearly as good as it seemed to feel for Aziraphale, and he was a bit excited at the thought of the angel preening him as well.

But every time he thought of something more between them, every time he thought he interpreted a signal of requited feeling from the angel, he immediately was crushed with guilt and bitterness. He knew angels can't love demons. He knew that this was all purely platonic. Yet he still tortured himself with the dream that they one day will be able to transcend the barrier between the two classes, that one day they could be together. 

It was a hopeless notion that should be abandoned, but Crowley can't quite bring himself to do it.

Crowley notices Aziraphale's silence, and peers past his wings to see the angel sleeping soundly. It had been dark now for several hours, and Crowley reads the time 3:57am on Aziraphale's timepiece. He doesn't think Aziraphale has ever slept apart from that one time on his couch, not like he did. It looks like he's really needed it lately. He continues working on the wing until he finishes, having put every feather in its place, and every piece of dust and debris having been removed. He gently folds his wing back up into a resting position, and decides to leave the other wing until the angel wakes up.

Crowley sits back on his heels, his fingers cramping just a little bit. Although he's not out of the practice of preening, his wings rarely need the deep cleaning that he gave Aziraphale, so his hands are a little less than thrilled about it. Again, he is struck by the beauty of his angel, and he wants to spend the rest of forever gazing at his sleeping form. Sounds a bit creepy, but he loved looking at Aziraphale when he thought he wasn't being observed. Watching him move and smile and walk was just inexplicably endearing, and he loved the way Aziraphale did everything. He had to admit, sometimes when the angel was explaining something or telling a story, he would tune out and just stare at that lovely face of his, completely forgetting about the rest of creation for the moment.

  Crowley breaks his stare, and gets up to start cleaning up the mess he made. Down, feather dust, and the occasional broken feather littered the floor, and the tedious nature of etherial beings prohibited using miracles on them, meaning Crowley has to manually sweep up each speck of dust. He doesn't understand how the humans do it every single time, every day, without fail. It sounds exhausting.

A perfect, white, heavenly secondary is among the mess. Unbroken, whole, perfect in every sense of the world, shed just because time wasn't on its side. Crowley delicately picks up the feather, and with thinking, tucks it in the pocket of the women's blazer he was wearing. The unnatural whiteness of the feather is accented by his black attire, and Crowley admits he rather likes it.

After he finishes sweeping, the demon throws one last glance at the heap of sleeping perfection in the living room, and finds his way to his bedroom, where he spends the rest of the early morning admiring the feather.

 


	4. Feelings Laid Bare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just letting y'all know, this is the last chapter I'll be able to put out for a bit, I'm moving across the country for college and I don't know how long I'll be offline. Enjoy this chapter, I'll be back when I'm settled! Thank you for staying with me this long!
> 
> -Hannah

 

_Aziraphale_

 

Crowley's house was really taking on a cozier atmosphere now. 

Aziraphale had, slowly, started to make little claims here and there. A few books placed on a slate grey end table, a fluffy throw blanket draped over the back of a couch that did not seem to invite sitting upon; he had even gotten away with putting little lamps and lights that gave the flat a nice low lighting atmosphere that inspired the intense feeling to cuddle up on a couch and read a book for a few hours straight.

Crowley was less than thrilled about this, Aziraphale speculated, but he hadn't said anything about it yet, so he would continue to make small changes until he did. The angel knew that with the right combination of puppy eyes and a woeful face, Crowley would do pretty much anything for him. Aziraphale wondered if that were a form of love.

He had been thinking a lot about that lately. Back when they only saw each other every few decades or so, Aziraphale spent less time fretting about his feelings and more time collecting books and visiting new restaurants and the like. But now that they were living together and breathing the same air more often than not, the angel found himself very preoccupied with the notion that Crowley may love him back. He remembers some study one of the humans in his bookshop had been talking to their friend about, something to the effect of how if you are looking for something in another person or situation, you are bound to find it. So maybe, now that he couldn't stop himself from overanalyzing everything that Crowley did, he was noticing the signs of love he had been giving. Or, more likely than not, Aziraphale was projecting, and he only saw beacons of love because he wanted them to be there.

Aziraphale forced himself to stop thinking about that, and continued rearranging the books he had acquired from a niche bookshop in a neighboring city. His collection was rather lackluster in comparison to the rare books and priceless volumes he had collected over the many millennia, but just the act of owning books seemed to make him feel a little better. Most were just mildly old books that simply looked nice, but here and there Aziraphale managed to find novels that he had enjoyed when they first came out, but now resided in a £1 bin at the back of a bookshop.

Nevertheless, the smell of books and the inherent joy they brought him were enough to sate his needs, and as long as books existed in the word, Aziraphale will be able to have some form of happiness.

"Oi, Aziraphale," Crowley says, having suddenly appeared in the doorway. "What do you say on going for a stroll?"

Aziraphale turns, smiling. "That sounds lovely. Are you sure...are you sure that it's safe?"

Ever since the day that both of them came running back to the flat after feeling like they were being watched, they had refrained from going anywhere alone, or anywhere too secluded. That meant a lot of time in restaurants, but not so much time going on walks after dark.

Crowley shrugs nonchalantly. "Probably not, but I'm getting tired of being cooped up. As long as we have each other, it'll be alright."

Aziraphale would have blushed if he were human. Instead, he smiles giddily and makes his way over to Crowley, stepping over and around the piles of books he had yet to organize. He still felt a bit uneasy about leaving the flat, but they couldn't stay hidden forever. Soon enough, they would have to face their accusers.

It was a nice evening. The sun was just beginning to go down, and the trees and buildings were cast in a golden light that permeated Aziraphale's heart and made him long for a good reason to fly through the amber air.

A few minutes ago, Crowley had taken the angel's hand, and had begun smoothing his thumb over Aziraphale's knuckles. Aziraphale hasn't been able to breathe properly since then, but there was no way in heaven he would break the grip.

Suddenly, Aziraphale felt a sharp impending premonition of danger. His eyes caught sight of a figure running towards them, too fast to allow them to fly away, and before he could properly process the situation or stop himself, there was a mighty _BANG._ Lightning flashed, searing his retinas with a reverse image of the park, and the smell of ozone and smoke filled the air. Nothing was left of the threat but a patch of scorched grass.

Crowley startles, and grips Aziraphale's hand even tighter as he gasps for breath.

Aziraphale was still, his face as cold as stone. Soon, the ruthless expression left his face, and he settles back into his calm demeanor.

"Did you just...smite someone for me...?" Crowley asks disbelievingly.

The angel nods slightly. "Yes, it appears I did. It caught me off guard. I didn't mean to, he just sort of...appeared. Couldn't stop myself."

Crowley nods soberly. His jaw is tight, and his eyes are fixed on the spot of charred grass. "It was a mistake to go out. Dangerous. We need to be more careful."

Aziraphale wants to protest. What else are they going to do? Stay in Crowley's flat forever? All the demons know where he lives, it's only a matter of time until they think to look there, assuming they haven't been scoped out already. But he doesn't have a better idea. He can't always be there ready to smite someone at a moment's notice.

"What about Alpha Centuri?" Aziraphale asks, trying to keep his voice even and neutral.

Crowley drags his eyes away from the scorch marks to glance at the angel. He had moved closer, and angled his body to face Aziraphale, a protective stance. "What about it?"

Aziraphale inhales shakily, not looking at the demon. "We could run away together. Like you said. Before the...apocalypse, or lack thereof."

Crowley now turns to face him fully, all attention on him now. "You...you mean that? You'd just...just pick up and leave, no looking back?"

Aziraphale swallows nervously. "For you? Anything."

"Why now?" Crowley asks, almost as if it causes him pain. "Why not earlier, when I first asked? Or when I asked again?"

"It's different now," Aziraphale says cryptically, trying not to confess his love right then and there. 

"What's different?" Crowley presses, as if he's starving to hear something _real_ , something _honest_ from the angel. "What makes you want to now?"

" _We're_ different!" Aziraphale exclaims, unable to keep the frustration and pent up anger inside. He was so done being told what to do, being under someone's thumb, and now that he isn't, now that he's with Crowley, he's being hunted for it. He just can't catch a break, neither of them can. "We don't have sides anymore, Crowley! It's like you said, we're on our own side. Why should we continue acting as if we aren't?!"

Crowley's mouth opens and shuts a few times, giving him the look of a goldfish in disbelief. His face furrows and he looks at the ground. "I've always said that. I've said that since day one, and now you believe it. It's better late than never, angel, but for fuck's sake, you'll be the death of me."

Aziraphale smiles a bit despite himself. "So, when do we leave?"

Crowley smiles back, his face lit up with childish glee. "Why not now? What are we waiting for? We can go now, and never come back. What do you say, angel?"

All of a sudden, it's too much again. Too fast. Too real. Aziraphale curses himself, and tries to push down the feeling of panic, tries to block the overwhelming anxiety. Every time things get too close, get too intimate, his brain slams on the brakes, blocking his heart from making decisions.

"Maybe...maybe not now..."Aziraphale says, already hating the weakness and fear in his voice. "One day. One day soon, but not now."

Crowley's face is in disbelief again, but a different flavor of it. "Why not? Why not now? I don't get how this is 'too fast' for you, it's been 6,000 years and I don't know what else I can do to convince you that we're in this together and that we're all we have left. Not now is fine. But give me a day. Give me a date, a solid time you'll be ready. We're not safe here, angel, we don't have another 60 centuries to burn. We're on borrowed time as is."

Aziraphale knows Crowley is right. He knows he needs to listen to the demon, to stop being so scared of the unknown, to make a decision. He knows they don't have any more time to spare. So he has to make a decision. Now.

"Okay, Crowley," he concedes quietly. "You're right. Just...just give me a month. Give me a month and I'll be ready."

"We don't have a month," Crowley says desperately, his face pained as he looks anywhere but at Aziraphale. "We may not even have two weeks."

"Two weeks it is, then," Aziraphale says quickly, before he can stop himself. Two weeks was so short of a time, especially to a millennia-old etherial being. How can he prepare himself in that short of a time? What was there even to _do_ on Alpha Centuri? No bookshops, no restaurants, nothing. Just him and Crowley, forever. Aziraphale does love Crowley, and wants to be by his side for the rest of eternity, but he always pictured it on Earth, the place they had loved since the Beginning. Leaving now felt so strange, so wrong, and Aziraphale doesn't know how to cope with it. He knows they can't stay on Earth for much longer. Two weeks was pushing it, just like Crowley said. But to pick up and leave everything he loved, everything he ever knew? That was terrifying. 

"Crowley," he says suddenly, a thought coming to his mind. "I know you Created a lot of things before you...before you Fell, and I must know, are we the only things here? I mean, is there...other life, somewhere else?" The thought of leaving might not be so terrifying if they were going somewhere with other beings. The thought of aliens had crossed Aziraphale's mind a few times, but it was all just passing curiosity, it didn't really matter to him as long as he had Earth. But now he doesn't.

"Why would you ask a question like that, angel?" Crowley asked, genuinely perplexed.

"Well, I was just thinking...Alpha Centuri is just so...so far, so distant. It would be much easier if we went somewhere with other...beings. Imagine the restaurants on the other side of the galaxy." Aziraphale says with a nervous, breathy chuckle.

Crowley shrugs, but his face betrayed his rapt interest. "I don't really know, actually. I just Created the places, I never stuck around to see what She filled them with. It doesn't make sense, to put all your Creations in one spot, but I've only ever interacted with beings directly tied to Earth. We could find out, you know. Alpha Centuri was just a fallback. I don't really know what else is out there. I Fell pretty shortly after I finished Creating things. It could be an adventure. Just you and I." Crowley finishes with a hopeful smile.

Aziraphale is silent for a moment. Exploring the universe with Crowley was oh-so-enticing, but the angel still felt absolutely terrified of the idea of leaving everything behind and setting off into the unknown. Earth had been his home for over 6,000 years, and the idea of leaving it felt, quite literally, alien to him.

"I suppose..." he says haltingly, trying to will himself into making a hard and fast decision. Aziraphale likes himself, in general, but the one thing that he found so hard to cope with was his inability to deal with change. And his inability to deal with his feelings for Crowley, of course, but that wasn't the issue on the table at the moment. 

"I suppose that will have to do," he says with a forced finality. There was nothing else he could do, no other answer he could give that would end well. No other decision that could keep him with Crowley.

Crowley's face is awash with relief, and he smiles gratefully. "Thank you, angel."

"You're quite welcome," he replies, rather stiffly, still reeling from the abrupt call he had to make. "What do you say we go back to the flat? Have a drink, maybe order something to eat?"

Crowley's smile widens, and he squeezes Aziraphale's hand. The angel had quite forgotten he was holding the demon's hand, and the sudden pressure made his chest fill with giddy excitement. It was all he could do to squeeze back, and try not to act overly flustered.

"I would love to," Crowley replies easily. "I didn't know you knew about delivery food. I thought you were a strict 'dine at the Ritz' sort of angel."

"Well, it's not my favorite form of food, but I don't think we should be out on the streets for much longer, and smiting does make me ever so peckish." Aziraphale replies, still a little flustered by the hand squeeze. He considered himself a fairly 'together' type of person, but all it took was one intimate gesture from Crowley and he was a puddle of heartstrings on the floor.

"Best be on with it, then," the demon says, pulling Aziraphale along. The angel was glad for the movement, somehow he felt safer if he kept a constant motion. It was silly, but no sillier than an angel hand in hand with a demon walking through Hyde Park at sundown.

The sun had gotten dangerously low, and Aziraphale began to fret. Roughly 5 minutes till sunset, and they were still a good 10 from the flat. If only they could fly!

Well, they could, physically. But flight did cause slight disturbances in the ether, disturbances that would alert other, less savory beings to their presence. Aziraphale knows that their locations are probably are already known, that it's just a matter of time, and that flying probably wouldn't hasten the inevitable too much, but it's still a risk they have to balance. 

Crowley seemed to be on edge as well. He was walking stiffly, almost no trace of the sexy saunter he usually displayed, just straight legs and a clenched jaw as they strode through the streets of London. Aziraphale struggles to keep up with his long-legged demon friend, but he knows better than to ask him to slow down; the way his face was set was more than enough to stave off a request like that. Crowley's grip on Aziraphale was like iron, and although his face was kept forward, the angle could see his snake eyes darting about the place, his yellow irises almost completely filling his eyeballs. 

The sun had set, and by some miracle they had managed to cross the threshold into the flat just as the last traces of daylight had faded, the sun now only a yellow-tinged memory in the sky. As they entered the flat, they both let out a collective breath that Aziraphale wasn't aware he was holding. They weren't safe, but the fortress that was Crowley's home instilled a sense of security that they, frankly, really cannot afford to have. But what was safe, anyway, if not a feeling you get when you arrive home?

Crowley gives Aziraphale's hand one last squeeze before breaking his grip on the angel. Aziraphale's heart is disappointed at the loss of touch, but really, did he expect that show of intimacy to last forever?

Crowley waltzes over to the couch in the main living area, and settles into the blankets and pillows Azirphale has accumulated, his jaw slightly less taut and his eyes slightly less fearful.

"You going to join me, or just stand there looking lost?" Crowley says, with a trace of a smile in his words. Aziraphale obliges, sitting as close to the demon as he dared. He felt like a nervous energy was radiating through Crowley, and he could almost feel the vibrations of emotion rolling off of him. He couldn't tell exactly what emotion it was, but whatever it was, it was strong as hell. Crowley takes a breath, and relaxes into his usual slouch, his tapping fingers betraying his anxiety.

He suddenly whips out his phone, and starts to order something from a local restaurant, Aziraphale didn't see which. The angel retrieves a bottle of wine from the wine rack in the next room over, and hopes to God it'll take the edge off his fear. He knows that getting tipsy lowers his defenses significantly, but at the moment, all he wants to be is wine drunk and in love with the demon sitting next to him.

"What are you ordering, my dear?" the angel asks curiously, trying to get a peek over Crowley's shoulder at the phone screen. 

"Call it a surprise, angel," he says, angling the phone away from Aziraphale. "I actually enjoy this food, believe it or not, so I'm ordering that."

"Whatever makes you happy, Crowley," Aziraphale says as he pours out two glasses of wine, oblivious to the slight coloring of the demon's face.

Crowley knocks back his glass rather quickly, seemingly as anxious to submit to drunken oblivion as Aziraphale is. The angel nurses his glass quietly, still torn between wanting to be on high alert and wanting to be as drunk as ethereally possible. The two drink in silence for a bit, and for once, the silence is loaded with tension and unspoken anxieties. Aziraphale didn't like that; he couldn't remember the last time he felt so tense around Crowley. Well, actually he can, it was that day that the demon had asked for the ultimate poison: holy water. He still doesn't know what Crowley has planned for the thermos of destruction, but he can only hope it isn't for himself. The thought of Crowley taking his own life was too much to bear. The demon was, admittedly, his only true friend at the moment, and arguably his only true friend, period. 

"Should be about 5 minutes until the food gets here," Crowley says, finally breaking the painful silence. He swallows hard, staring straight in front of him at a portrait he acquired in the height of the Renaissance. 

"Oh. Yes. That's rather good." Aziraphale says, not able to keep the uncharacteristic tension from his voice. Food was sounding very good at the moment, but for some reason, the churning in his stomach made him think he wouldn't be so happy after he finished eating.

Silence again.

The doorbell rings, and it startles Aziraphale into sitting upright, and the sound makes Crowley flinch slightly. The demon stiffly gets up and saunters out of sight to the front door. Aziraphale can hear indistinct conversation, and the sound of a door closing. Crowley appears with a large box that was revealed to contain copious amounts of chicken wings.

"Chicken wings?" the angel said disbelievingly. Out of all the food on the planet, this is what Antony J Crowley loves the most?

"Well, I prefer rats when I'm in my snake form, and I'm getting a little antsy and this is the best substitute for rats that you'd eat." Crowley says, a little more defensively than was warranted.

Aziraphale puts up his hands in surrender. "All right. Chicken wings it is."

Crowley ate a rather impressive amount of wings, somehow avoiding the inevitable mess that a mortal would make while eating, and with each bite he seemed to calm more, his irises shrinking and his movements more fluid. He was on his fifth glass of wine by now, and it was beginning to show through his slurred words and clumsy maneuvers. Aziraphale wasn't much better off himself; after his first glass he gave into blissful abandon and drank half the bottle.

"You know what'ssss crazy, angel?" Crowley begins, his cadence becoming more snakelike in his drunken state.

Aziraphale blinks hard, trying to organize a coherent thought. "What's that, my dear?"

"For an angel, you really are an idiot." Crowley says, trying to focus his eyes on Azirphale.

"What makes you say that?" the angel asks, completely unperturbed by the insult.

"I mean, like...with the boy. With the magic act, with yours sssstupid doe-eyes, you're just, you're just ridiculous, it's almost painful, but I can't ssstop looking at your face, y'know? Like, we could be killed any day now and all I can think about is how you think my eyes are pretty. I mean, how fucked is that, right? It just took the end of the world to make you say what you think of me, and I still haven't said a word about it. It just goes to show--"

"Crowley," the angel cuts him off. "What do you need to hear me say?"

Crowley's face is slack, his irises dilating. "What makessss you think I want to hear ssomething?"

Aziraphale takes a breath, trying to still his hands. Even in a drunken stupor, that damn demon still manages to him gleefully nervous. 

"I mean..." he starts, pausing to take another breath, far too anxious to be making any sort of sense, "I mean, you're obviously needed something from me, the way you ramble, and I'll tell you anything you'd like if you quit dancing around and calling me names."

"I didn't mean the name, Aziraphale, I don't think you're an idiot, I just..." Crowley trails off, looking at a space to the left of the angel's head.

"You just what?" Aziraphale needs something real from him, something concrete that he can think about for the days to come, some type of emotion laid bare that can prove that a demon has feelings. He needs this more desperately than he needs to breathe, but he would be damned if he were able to articulate that.

"I need you to tell me you love me."

Crowley's voice came out broken and hushed, dragging his eyes up to meet Aziraphale's, almost as if looking him in the eye was a painful feat. Aziraphale feels nothing but calm. He had waited for this day for 60 centuries, and for some reason, it felt like he had heard the phrase before. Of course, he was ecstatic at the implication of the sentence, but in all honestly, it felt like coming home.

"It's the end of usss, angel, and I just need to hear it, just once before we are hunted down and killed." Crowley's voice is strained in a way Aziraphale has never heard before, and it moves him to his core.

"Of course I love you," Aziraphale says, his voice steady and clear, despite the copious amounts of alcohol in his blood. "I just never knew you could love me too."

"What do you mean by that?" Crowley says in disbelief, his sunglasses already fallen to the floor at this point. "How can you not tell? I'm a bleeding beacon of love for you, aren't you supposed to be able to sense that?"

"I'm far too drunk for this, Crowley, I need to sober up before I say something stupid," the angel says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What, like saying you can't feel the idiotic love coming off me in waves?"

"Something like that, yes."

With a few seconds of straining, the angel and the demon were free of the wine's holds.

"So how can you not tell?" Crowley asks, leaning forward on his elbows. His irises were almost completely blown, and Aziraphale feels, for this first time tonight, more than mildly flustered.

"I don't know. I mean, I can feel a general sense of love when I'm around you, but I always attributed that to the fact that we're friends and that you...like me, at least." Aziraphale says, rather lamely. He doesn't quite know how he's able to be so nonchalant about the matter, but he can tell his anxiety is going to skyrocket in the next few minutes if he doesn't get control of the situation soon.

"Of course I like you, angel, I wouldn't stick around if I didn't. I was just bloody terrified that you knew, but didn't say anything about it because you didn't feel the same way." Crowley says, a hint of disappointment lacing his words.

"I do feel the same way, I always have, it just...took me awhile to realize it. I think...1941 was the first I realized it. You saving those books for me. It made me feel like it always does, but it just hit me then that it was love. Rather silly, if you think about it." Aziraphale's face grows slightly warm from embarrassment. Here he was, losing the upper hand. Something. He had to say something to make this moment his own again. 

"But what's even sillier is that I've known you've loved me for around 5 minutes now and I have done nothing about it." he says, trying to goad the demon into indulging him.

Crowley's mouth parted in surprise, and his snakelike tongue flickered over his lips in anticipation. "Like what?"

"Like this."

Aziraphale leans over, pressing every inch of himself against the demon as he let his face hover just in front of Crowley's. The demon's yellow eyes are wide with surprise and excitement, his pupils blown comically and his irises taking over the white in his eyes. Azirphale holds his mouth just over Crowley's, before he pauses for a moment.

"Are you sure, Crowley?" he asks, his damn thoughts getting the best of him.

"6,000 years," Crowley whispers, "and you're asking me if I'm sure? I've never been more sure of anything else in my life."

"Best not to think too much then," Aziraphale laughs quietly, before closing the distance and meeting Crowley's lips. 

The feeling was incredible. It first reminded him of when they held hands, how the electric current passed between the supposed mortal enemies, but this was so much more. His lips buzzed with the energy, and he felt his wings reflexively snap into this dimension, and he knew one thing for sure: there was no one else out there for him but Antony J Crowley.

Crowley's hands cup his face, his painted nails ever so slightly scratching his skin, and Aziraphale  melted into the touch. They pull back a bit, and the angel opened his eyes to stare into Crowley's.

"I cannot believe that this is the first time we've done this," Crowley says with a bit of a chuckle. 

Aziraphale lets out a breathy laugh in response. "It is rather difficult to imagine, now that it's been done. It felt rather like coming home."

"You've always been my home, angel," Crowley says seriously, his eyes clouded with love and adoration.

"And you mine," the angel replies, almost without thinking. "It just...took me forever to realize that." And it quite literally had been forever.

Aziraphale relaxes his body, laying down completely on top of Crowley, resting his face in the crook of his neck. The demon was rather boney, and his hip bones dug into the angel's flesh, but he didn't mind. Crowley's hands reached up and fastened themselves around his middle, and in that moment, nothing felt more right.

"It's a pity we had to wait this long," Aziraphale says softly into Crowley's ear. "I wish we had more time."

"Angel, we have all the time in the universe," the demon says forcefully. "We will find a way out of this. Alpha Centuri, the Andromeda galaxy, anywhere we go, we will go together."

"I love you," Azirphale says, absolutely enthralled with the way the words feel on his tongue. Words he had longed to say for so, so very long.

"I love you too," Crowley replies tenderly, and that's all the angel wants to hear for the rest of eternity.

Aziraphale wraps his wings around Crowley, and the demon's wings are out with a snap as they furl around him too. They stay like that for a long time, exchanging long, slow kisses, the rest of the world quite forgotten for the two etherial lovers.

 


End file.
